


The Place I Know I Should Be

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A smattering of, Conversations, Episode Related, Hope, M/M, Melancholy, episode 193 spoilers, little bit of, this is like five ideas mashed into one whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29221323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 193!!!"So," Martin says. "...What now?"
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 22
Kudos: 127





	The Place I Know I Should Be

"Well," Martin says, and his voice cuts clear through the unending monologue of fear coming from above them, "we're not doing that, then."

Jon coughs out a rough laugh, almost choking on the sound. There is no humor behind it, just a bitter resignation. "No. I would prefer if we didn't."

Martin squeezes Jon's arm, the steadying hand having turned to one of reassurance as Jon regained his balance after the statement. Jon doesn't know which of them he's trying to comfort. "Is there  _ anything  _ we can do? We can't kill him, but maybe we can, I dunno...  _ restrain  _ him, or something? Weaken him."

Jon shakes his head. "No," he says. "The only action we can take here is to make things worse for ourselves." He can feel the certainty of it pressing on his mind now, the cold assurance from the Eye that it  _ will  _ consume him, one way or another. He can already feel it trying, the overwhelming knowledge of the Pupil bleeding off Jonah's mind and into his own, the horrors of a world laid bare before an uncaring Watcher-

Martin is gripping his arm tighter, his other hand coming up to cup Jon's face. "Hey, hey, stay with me," he's saying, brow furrowed with worry. "Don't go off again."

"Sorry," Jon says. He grips Martin's arms in turn, trying to ground himself. "It's just- it's a lot. To See, all at once."

"I know," Martin says, and even though he doesn't, not  _ really  _ \- it is impossible to comprehend the depth and breadth and complexity of all knowledge that has ever existed unless you have experienced it firsthand - Jon appreciates the sympathy. "But we've come too far for me to lose you to that  _ thing  _ now."

"You won't," Jon says, tossing the words like an oath into the staring gaze of the Eye. "I promise."

Martin nods. Jon can see the doubt in his eyes. "Come on," he says, and starts tugging Jon toward the wall, hands still steadying him as he wavers on his feet. "Let's sit down for a minute, catch our bearings."

Jon follows along willingly enough, letting Martin ease them both down at the edge of the room so they can lean against the wall and each other, legs splayed out in front of them. It would be peaceful, almost, if it weren't for the hovering form of Jonah Magnus in the center of the room, still reciting his litany of horror.

Jon reaches over; laces his fingers through Martin's and brings them to his lips to press a kiss to the back of his hand before resting them both on his thigh.

"I'm sorry you can't get your revenge," he says quietly, and Martin shrugs.

"You're more important than revenge."

Jon smiles painfully as his own words are turned back on him. He wishes he could walk into a burning building for Martin. It would be far simpler than this.

Martin nudges his shoulder. "So," he says. "...What now?"

Jon frowns at him. "What do you mean?"

"What  _ next?" _ Martin clarifies. "We can't touch him, not without making things worse, so... where do we go from here? What can we do that  _ doesn't  _ involve you getting stuck up there-" he gestures at the ceiling, "-reciting horror stories for all eternity, or, or us getting blown up in some feedback loop from trying to turn the Eye against itself? Plan B."

_ "Oh," _ says Jon softly, and he is struck dumb for a moment in absolute wonder of the man sitting beside him. He cannot fathom the strength that goes into Martin's stubborn optimism, the determination that keeps him hoping, even at the end of the world. It burns in his eyes, a spark of fierce resolve, and Jon loves him, so much. "What is there to do, Martin?" he asks sadly, hating that it might extinguish that spark. "This was... it. The only plan. We've reached the end of the line, and there's... there's nowhere to go from here."

They've lost. It is so clear to Jon that it does not even bear saying. They have tried everything they can try, come as far as they can come, and they have failed. It's not a case of being too late, missing an opportunity and having to wait for the next one. There never was a chance, and the only reason they have gotten this far is that the Eye has been calling him, calling him here.

It is beautiful, in its own way. Here, at the center of things, the power of it fills him up so much he almost feels like he could float off the ground with it, rise up and join the body of Jonah Magnus in the air, take his place and see  _ everything. _ He is so close, now, so close to taking on the role he was always meant to play, obeying that summons that has been drawing him in since he left the cabin, calling him to be here, to  _ stay  _ here, in this place he knows he should be.

Martin's hand tightens around his, and Jon blinks, tearing his gaze away from the unrelenting Eye.

"You with me?" Martin asks, and Jon lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Yes," he says faintly. "I- I am." The Eye is still calling him - has never stopped calling him - but he tears his mind away from its allure. He does not care what promises of power it makes him; he knows where he  _ should  _ be, and it is by the side of Martin Blackwood, wherever that might take him.

"So that's, it, then?" Martin asks. "Game over? He won, and we just... give up?"

"I don't think we have any other choice," Jon says, and Martin huffs and looks away. He is acting frustrated, playing up annoyance and impatience, but Jon knows him well enough to see the fear and helplessness that it is hiding.

Jon does not know what to say to make him feel better, to soften the blow. There is nothing that  _ can  _ soften the blow of this failure, this final confirmation that they cannot turn the world back, cannot fix what has been broken, cannot save anyone.

"Did you ever think about what would happen after?" he asks, quietly, half-sure Martin will not hear him.

"Hm?" Martin says, turning back, eyes finding Jon again. "After what? Killing  _ him?" _

"Yes," Jon says. "Killing him, destroying the Eye, saving the world... all of it." He pauses. Considers his words. "Our... happy ending. If that had ever been a possibility."

"Oh jeeze." Martin grimaces, eyebrows furrowing. "That's a big one. Not- not really, I don't think? I always- I mean, I tend to kind of fixate on  _ saving  _ the world, not what comes after. The big, heroic moment of it all, when we realize we've won, holding hands and watching as the world puts itself to rights. Not the actual...  _ living  _ in the saved world."

"Hm," Jon says, leaning over a bit so he can tuck his head onto Martin's shoulder. "That would have been nice."

"Yeah," Martin says, and Jon can hear that he's smiling, even though he sounds sad. "What about you?"

"A bit?" Jon admits. "I used to think about it back in- in Scotland. Before- well, everything. Nothing really specific," he adds. "Just... shapes of it. Of the future."

"Yeah?" Martin asks.

"Yeah," Jon replies.

Martin hums. "Will you tell me about it?"

"There's nothing much to tell, really," Jon says. "It wasn't like- like  _ plans, _ or anything. Just... images. Daydreams.”

"Go on, then," Martin says, shaking his own shoulder to jostle Jon. There's a teasing note to his voice. "Where did you see us in five years?"

Jon pauses. It's something he's tried not to think about since the world ended, since the possibility of it was lost. He's not sure what prompted him to bring it up now. "On a park bench," he begins. "Watching the sunset."

He waits a moment for Martin to interject, but he remains silent, listening intently.

"We've both got wedding rings," Jon continues, and squeezes Martin's palm tight against his own. "And we're holding hands. There's a warm home waiting for us when we leave. Well-stocked cupboards. Bookshelves in the living room. An old record player next to the television." A wave of emotion sweeps through Jon, bringing a lump to his throat. It can't be nostalgia, because he and Martin have never had this home, but it feels a lot like it. "We can't stay out too long, because there are dishes left from dinner that we still need to clean, but for now... for now we sit there. Just the two of us. And let the world pass us by."

It takes a long moment for Martin to respond. When he does, his voice is soft. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah," says Jon. "Yeah. Me too."

He closes his eyes; turns his face slightly, pressing his nose into the collar of Martin's jumper. Focuses on the sound of his breathing and tries to tune out the eldritch chant that continues above them. Imagines the warm orange light of a late afternoon sun streaking through the trees of a park, and the distant sound of birds.

Martin takes a deep breath and shifts beside him. "Well," he says, "come on, then."

"What?" Jon asks, startled, as Martin begins to stand. "Come- where?"

"Come on," Martin says again, holding out a hand to help Jon up. "Back to the tunnels. We can regroup with Melanie and Georgie, come up with new plan."

"I- I don't..." Jon takes Martin's hand; allows himself to be pulled up. "There  _ aren't  _ any new plans, Martin. There's nothing we can do."

"I don't accept that," Martin says firmly, and Jon is struck silent by the resolve in his eyes. "I'm not going to admit defeat until we've exhausted  _ every  _ possibility, no matter how far fetched. I'm not giving up that easily."

There's something there, something in his eyes behind the resolve, that Jon cannot name. He wonders what giving up means for Martin; what he is prepared to do if they truly cannot save the world.

"Besides," he adds after a moment, eyes softening. "We haven't seen Basira in ages. Maybe she'll make it to London soon, and it'd be a shame if we weren't there to meet her."

"She's getting close," Jon says, the words at the tip of his tongue in an instant. "Her steps are weighed down by grief and the guilt of all that she has stood by and watched unfold without a thought to stop it, her purpose sharp and cutting as a knife with steel in her eyes as she approaches, implacably, destination drawing ever nearer with the screams upon the breeze-"

"Jon," Martin says, taking Jon's face in his hands and turning his eyes to meet Martin's own. "Come back. Come back to me, Jon."

Jon inhales, sharply, as the haze recedes from his vision and the echoes of Basira's experience fade away to reveal Martin's face.

"S-sorry," he says. "I just..."

"I know," Martin says. "Just...  _ please  _ don't do another statement now, it's-" he glances up and to the side, at Jonah's hovering form, "-scary, when you do it here. I don't know if you'll come back."

Jon lifts his own hands, covering Martin's. "I will," he promises. "I always will, Martin."

"Still."

"Alright," he concedes. "...I shouldn't invade her privacy like that, anyway."

"No, she probably wouldn't like that." Martin sends one more look in Jonah's direction. It is spiteful, full of hate, and Jon half-expects him to flip off the floating omniscient demigod. Instead he turns away, as though the Pupil of the Eye is not worth the time the action would take, and Jon has to bite back a smile. If he were aware of their presence, Jonah would have found that to be far more insulting than an outright gesture of disrespect. "Ready to go?" Martin asks.

"Lead on," Jon sweeps a hand toward the arching double doors, back to the entryway and Rosie's desk. "Though I should warn you that you may have to help me down the stairs."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. I don't think the Eye is too keen on me leaving."

"Still pulling you to stay here?"

"Oh yes."

"Right." Martin claps his hands together decisively, and Jon marvels once again at his unwavering determination. "If it comes down to it, I can drag you."

"How romantic." Jon raises a single eyebrow, putting as much dry humor into his voice as possible. It makes Martin smile.

"Come on," he says again, warmly. "We're not doing any good here."

Jon highly doubts that they will do any good anywhere; that there is any good left to be done. There is an instinct, deep in the core of him, that screams that he is making a mistake, that he should stay here, at the center of things, that it is his rightful place and he should just give in...

He ignores it, and takes Martin's hand, following him out of the room.


End file.
